


Goretober Collection 2018

by LadyoftheValley



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Anxiety, Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Character Death, Goretober, Horror, Mental Breakdown, Multi, Nightmares, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Psychotic Thoughts, Stitches, Teeth, Unhappy Ending, plant growth
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-04
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-07-25 05:18:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16190885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyoftheValley/pseuds/LadyoftheValley
Summary: I decided to participate in Goretober this year, and writing is my only way of contributing to the fun!I also realized that I started much too late to catch up, so the updates may not be daily, but the prompts I have planned will be finished.Please keep in mind that this is my GOREtober, so there will be horror elements in each of the chapters.





	1. Day 1: Teeth

Oikawa knew this dream well, knew it more intimately than how to perfect his own volleyball skills to compliment the others. It was dark, god, so dark, and then suddenly it wasn’t and he was surrounded on either side by swarms of people all faceless but so, so judgmental.

And Oikawa then felt the first bit of pain, almost gagged on it, as his dream self reached up to pull out the fallen tooth, examining it for a moment in morbid curiosity before the second wave came, like throwing up boulders as his throat closed up and more of his teeth fell as he spit them out.

His face was burning with exertion and shame, the laughter of the faceless echoing around him as they judged and judged and judged.

Oikawa tried to hold it in, tried to cover his mouth to stop the stream of blood and teeth dripping from his lips, but god, it was worse to choke around it all than to spit it out, no matter how much he wanted it to stop. Why were his teeth falling out? So white and beautiful against the black and blood red background, but so disgusting and wrong.

He knew he was dreaming, and tried to pinch himself awake, call for this nightmare to stop, but was stuck in the endless pain of throwing up what he shouldn’t, and more than should be possible, all while the bystanders laughed and told him how worthless he was, how much of a freak he was.

And the dream wouldn’t allow him to do anything except accept the pain and shame, made him crumble as he endured.

Oikawa wasn’t sure how long it went on, but he was suddenly wrenched from that dream with a sobbing gasp, eyes going wide with fear and residual pain causing him to choke and gasp on the air he so suddenly inhaled. Warm arms encased him and gently hit his back as he tried to choke down the pain, tongue pushing against the backs of his teeth to check and make sure all of them were still in place, that none were missing and leaving a gaping hole in his perfect mask.

As he gained some semblance of coherency, even if he was still sobbing, he clutched at the arms encasing him, leaning into a strong chest and taking refuge in the silent support as he tried to gather his scattered pieces of his persona, teeth drenched in the blood of anxiety and false confidence and lies lies lies lies.


	2. Day 2: Stitches

One day, it was perfectly fine. The next day, everything went wrong.

It shouldn’t have ended like that. Kuroo had meticulously planned the hit on Nohebi’s territory specifically so Bokuto could cause the most amount of damage with the least amount of risk. Bokuto was someone special that he purposely didn’t put in danger, because Bokuto was special. Bokuto was pure and sweet and sunshine who didn’t deserve this dark life Kuroo dragged him into.

Why had the others brought him back a lifeless husk that resembled his childhood friend and high-school sweetheart?

Where was Bokuto’s life? The smile, the energy, the pure radiance that enveloped him?

“Get out, all of you.” Kuroo’s voice was cold, trembling along with his body. Everyone rushed to obey, unsure about their boss’s current mental state of seeing his favorite done in by his nemesis.

Kuroo walks closer to his best friend, reaches out slowly to graze his fingers against his cheek’s fading warmth, “What did they do to you, love? How did they manage this?”

He doesn’t know he’s crying until he sees tears drip onto Bokuto’s face, and then he can’t hold it back anymore, the floodgates releasing the pent up frustration and despair he’s been holding back.

And something cracks in his heart.

Something cracks in his mind.

His world can’t be without his sunshine. They weren’t allowed to take away his sunshine. He needed Bokuto at his side and to feel his warmth and love and adoration. Kuroo needed to feel his devotion.

Kuroo’s head twitches, his fingers twitch and grasp and tear into Bokuto’s skin, and that’s when he feels the warmth.

He let’s out a shaky, hysterical breath of a laugh, “You’re still alive in there, love? That’s okay. It’s going to be okay. I’ll save you, I’ll get you out of there.”

And Kuroo laughs a little more as he rips open Bokuto’s shirt, because where else would Bokuto be alive at than in his heart? Maybe the brain and body were dead, but nothing could make Bokuto’s heart cold. He had too much love to have a cold heart.

But no matter how much Kuroo claws at Bokuto’s chest to release his lover from his flesh prison, he can’t get deep enough, can’t reach him. So he screams in frustration and slams his fists down on Bokuto’s body, wanting to break the ribs that cage his lover.

Something glints in the corner of his eye, and Kuroo instinctively looks… and smiles.

Yes, a knife would do just fine. He could carve out his lover.

So Kuroo sets to work on getting his lover free, feeling the warmth spilling over his hands because of course Bokuto was still warm and good even after what had happened. Of course Bokuto wouldn’t leave Kuroo without his warmth.

Once Kuroo has ahold of his lover, he pulls him free, laughing almost like a child as he marveled at his lover, “See, babe? I told you I’d save you. I told you I’d get you out.”

But his face falls the moment he starts feeling his lover grow cold, so he rushes to find an answer, something to save his lover.

“Babe? Babe! No, no no no! It’s okay love, see? I’m gonna take care of you! Don’t leave me Kou, don’t leave me.”

He’s near hyperventilating by the time he wrenches open a drawer and finds a needle and thread inside. And in the crack of his mind, a thought slips out like an inky tendril of dark desperation, and suddenly that’s all he can think about.

So he listens.

He grabs the knife and carefully cleans it, before going in and carefully carving into his own chest, holding in the screams because this was for his lover. Bokuto would be safe and alive if it killed him.

Once he has the skin carved back, he forces his lover’s soul in beside everything else, because Kuroo’s love could keep him warm and alive, no matter how tight it made his chest. Suffering for his lover to live was the least he could do.

And ever so carefully, Kuroo starts sewing the makeshift cavern closed, careful not to hurt his sunshine lover, making sure each stitch was perfect for his Koutarou.

Here, Bokuto would be safe forever.


	3. Day 3: Plant Growth

The first time a blossom had bloomed from his skin, Sugawara ripped it out with little concern for the way it felt like pulling nerve endings out of his body. He just didn’t want anyone else to see it.

The second time a camellia bloomed, he snipped it, hoping that it would fix the problem with less of the pain. While it did hurt less, it was as if that patch of skin turned numb.

The third time, the flowers came back with a vengeance, scattered across his torso and feeling as if he were pulling out his very heart as he plucked them each one by one.

Sugawara was at a loss; he had never heard of anything like this and the internet was useless in his search for an explanation. He couldn’t tell his family or friends, fearing they would look at him like a freak, or medical professionals, fearing the experiments and tests they might put him through.

After a while, he learned that to maintain any look of normalcy, he needed to trim the blooms every morning, afternoon, and evening, and never let himself be seen undressed. Easier said than done when he was on a volleyball team.

He could feel the blooms moving under his skin, along muscles he had never tried to feel before. He could feel tendrils wrapping their ways around his lungs, around his heart. It was terrifying, but he learned to live with the pain and discomfort.

But one day, the blooms crawled up his throat, vines coming up and resting against his tongue, and he knew he couldn’t have that. Everyone would see! So he reached in and grabbed one of the tendrils and pulled, choking as he coughed up the bloody vine of flowers, feeling it snap somewhere deep in his gut.

He couldn’t keep doing this, couldn’t keep enduring the pain. He’d drive himself crazy.

Sugawara rushed out into the night, choking on flowers blooming in his throat, stumbling his way towards the forest, unsure why his feet were taking him there of all places. He wanted to escape from this curse, not indulge it.

But he was inexplicably drawn toward the forest, running and crashing through the trees with no conscious thought, only a need to get these cursed flowers out and off his body. After a while of mindless running, he collapsed in the center of a clearing, the same flowers he coughed up and cut off scattered all along the ground.

And Sugawara felt as if the flowers inside were all suddenly demanding to get out.

He cried as the first wave hit, blooms pushing bloody out of his skin. He had never experienced such intense pain as they pulled on his insides and squirmed their way along his nerves, setting them on fire with pain.

Why? Why had he been cursed with this awful pain?

The tendrils of the flowers pushed out of his palms and into the ground, chaining him there as he suffered. His tears fell uselessly down his cheeks, watering flowers beneath him. He cried and wailed as the flowers pulled him down, down against the earth, using him as they always had, until he was wrapped securely in the smothering vines, his sobs muffled by flowers filling his mouth, until he was no more.


End file.
